The Steel Spring (4 page)

The nurse had a luxuriant growth of black hair in her armpits. Outside the terminal building she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

The noise of the engine changed and the plane began its descent. Jensen looked at the clock. It was two hours earlier than expected. The seat-belt signs were switched on, the plane cut through the cloud cover, levelled out over misty fields and landed on a runway shiny with rain. Once the jet engines had whined to a stop, he looked out of the window.

He wasn’t home yet. But he immediately recognised where he was and knew where they had landed. In a neighbouring
country, not his own. He knew the language here and even spoke it tolerably well. The schedule had indicated it would be a non-stop flight. He remained in his seat.

After a while, an official of some kind came into the cabin and said:

‘The plane will not continue its journey. All passengers are invited to disembark.’

He repeated the announcement in a number of languages. Apart from Jensen, there were only two other passengers on board.

Outside it was raining and the raw chill in the air caught him off guard. The arrivals hall was noisy and smoky, crammed with people drinking beer and talking over each other.

The woman at the information desk gave him a pitying look and said:

‘There are no planes going there. All flights have been suspended until further notice.’

‘Suspended?’

‘Yes. All communications have been cut off.’

‘Where can I telephone from?’

‘Here. But there’s no point. The phone lines aren’t working either.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Nobody knows for sure.’

At that moment, he heard his name being called over the public address system. The woman did a double take, and looked at his ticket again.

‘Is your name Jensen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Follow me.’

She took him over to a lift and up to the top floor.

‘Go to reception room four,’ she said. ‘They’re expecting you.’ Jensen walked along the carpeted corridor, reading the doors. He stopped at number four and knocked.

‘Come in,’ said a voice.

There were three men in the room. Two of them were slumped in comfortable armchairs. Their faces were drawn and pale. He did not know either of them. There was a third person over by the window, standing with his back to the door. As he turned round, Jensen recognised him. It was the man from the election posters. The man considered to represent the totally interdependent concepts of welfare, security and accord better than anyone else. He had been the Minister for the Interior when Jensen left, and ought to be head of government by now. His Excellency.

‘Are you Jensen?’ he said in a shrill, uncontrolled tone.

‘Yes.’

‘Sit down, for God’s sake. Sit down.’

Inspector Jensen sat down.

‘I’ve heard about you, Jensen,’ said His Excellency, the senior minister. ‘You caused me a certain amount of inconvenience a few years back.’

He was plainly making an effort to keep his voice at a normal level. To sound as if things were as usual.

‘Would you like a beer?’ he asked abruptly.

‘No, thank you.’

‘They make damn good beer here, I must say.’

He sat down opposite Jensen. As he poured his own beer, his hands shook so much that he almost knocked the glass over.

‘You know these gentlemen, of course?’

Jensen had never seen them before and had no idea who they were, even after the minister had introduced them by name. They were both members of the government.

‘Someone said once that the distance between the people and those in authority was too great,’ the senior minister mumbled to himself.

Jensen knew what he meant. The red-haired police doctor had once said:

‘Can you think of anything more abstract and distant than God and the minister? Anything more remote?’

There was something in what he said. The Accord regime did not promote any kind of cult of the personality; that had
been one of its founding principles. The general uniformity and smoothing out that was its goal did not allow for any positions of personal power other than those based on capital, which could be consolidated without the intervention of the public sector. For official functions there was always the Regent to call on. It was only in the last two elections that there had been a named candidate with a face, presumably so the relationship between people in general and the technocrats who exercised formal power should not get too unreal.

‘Prime Minister …’ said Jensen, but the man instantly interrupted him.

‘I’m not the head of government. The election was … postponed.’

‘Why?’

The minister stood up suddenly. He made a jerky sort of gesture, contemplated his trembling hands for a moment and then thrust them in his jacket pockets.

‘Circumstances were such that it was considered appropriate to postpone the democratic elections,’ he said stonily.

One of the other men cleared his throat and said:

‘Inspector Jensen?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you send in your declaration of loyalty?’

‘Yes.’

‘I told you there was no connection,’ the minister said peevishly.

In the room, all was silent. Outside, the jet engines roared. Jensen looked at the men one after the other and said calmly:

‘What’s happened?’

‘The incomprehensible thing is, we don’t know. We don’t know what’s happened and above all, we don’t know how it’s
happened. There’s no logical connection between the details we do know.’

‘What details?’

‘Jensen, we need to take this from the beginning.’

‘Yes. Why are we here?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? How did you get here?’

‘The same way as you. On a plane. From abroad. We were on our way back from a … state visit. But we couldn’t get any further than this. All communications are severed.’

‘Why are all communications severed?’

‘We don’t know. Nobody knows.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Three days.’

‘Have you tried to get home by other means?’

His Excellency did not answer.

‘You summoned me here, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Jensen, we need to take things in order. Firstly, are you willing to take on the mission?’

‘What mission?’

‘Investigating what’s happened. Since we don’t know where we are, we can’t give you any precise orders.’

‘I know where we are.’

‘You misunderstand me. I mean in a legal sense. As you may know, we haven’t recognised the government in this country, for practical economic reasons. For us, it exists only as a geographical concept. We have no extraterritorial rights.’

‘Why are we here, then?’

The minister threw out his arms.

‘Where the hell do you want us to go? I ask you to do me a favour, do the country a favour, and you …’

He left the sentence unfinished. The member of the cabinet who had not yet spoken shook his head and said:

‘Police. What did I tell you?’

The man was fairly young and had an arrogant, supercilious manner. Jensen recalled having heard his name a few times and knew he was one of the government’s rising stars. He had held various ministerial positions and the general expectation was that he would head the government sooner or later. At present he was the Minister for Education. He had previously been head of communications, charged with the sensitive task of directing radio and television censorship.

Jensen regarded him without expression and said:

‘I would just like to point out that I am not on active duty, that we are abroad, and that I have been given no concrete information whatsoever except what I was told at the airline desk.’

‘Jensen, Jensen,’ the senior minister said sorrowfully and imploringly. ‘We know you are an extraordinarily skilful police officer.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. The way you handled that embarrassing affair four and a half years ago admittedly made things even more embarrassing, but the investigation was technically perfect …’

‘So perfect that it led to the deaths of thirty-two people, you mean?’

‘Don’t rake all that up again now.’

The Minister for Education said frostily:

‘Mr Jensen, I hope you are aware that we can put you back on the beat the minute the situation returns to normal. We
can also kick you out of the force altogether if we feel like it. You’ve caused trouble before.’

‘Just so,’ said the senior minister. ‘You should think of your family, at the very least.’

‘I haven’t got one,’ said Jensen.

‘All right then, what is it you want? Money?’

‘Facts.’

‘I told you: there aren’t any. We don’t know what’s happened.’

‘Why were the elections postponed?’ Jensen asked.

The senior minister gave a nervous shrug.

‘As I said …’

The education expert jumped up and gave the senior minister a far from appreciative look.

‘The election was postponed because of the serious disturbances that erupted in the closing stages of the campaign,’ he said.

‘Disturbances of what kind?’

‘Riots. Running battles. The police and army were called in.’

‘A revolt?’ Jensen said doubtfully.

‘Not at all. It was more a case of people turning with justified indignation on the nation’s enemies within. Unfortunately they resorted to methods that were far too violent.’

‘What happened then? Once the election had been postponed?’

‘That is something we don’t know with any certainty. Most of the government left the country at that point.’

‘With their families?’

‘Yes, they’re safe.’

‘And the Regent?’

‘In a place of safety.’

‘Why are all the borders closed?’

‘As far as we are aware, the borders aren’t closed at all.’

‘But all communications are cut off?’

‘Yes. Because a very serious epidemic is raging in the country. Here and in other foreign countries, they have accepted that theory.’

‘And is there any factual proof that the theory is correct?’

‘Yes. Before communications were broken off, the authorities requested medical help from abroad.’

‘And?’

‘Some personnel, mostly volunteer doctors and nurses from a number of foreign countries, immediately went on their own initiative. Soon after that, the message came through that the situation was under control and no further help was required.’

‘And then?’

‘Just after we had that message, communications were broken off.’

‘When was that?’

‘Five days ago. To be precise, I can tell you there has been no official contact for the past five days or nights.’

‘But unofficially?’

‘A few people have left the country. In groups of varying sizes. None of them we have been in touch with knows for sure what’s happened.’

‘Why did they leave the country?’

‘Fear and uncertainty drove them to it. But …’

‘Yes?’

‘There are various indications to support the theory that an epidemic has broken out there. A number of people have died in hospitals abroad.’

‘What of?’

‘It’s been impossible to establish the cause.’

‘Are the border controls still working?’

‘As you know, most of our borders are sea ones, and the land borders, as you also know, generally run through areas that are practically uninhabited. After much persuasion the police forces of neighbouring states agreed to reconnoitre outposts on our territory. Very unwillingly, I must say. Everyone’s scared of the epidemic.’

‘And?’

‘The outposts proved to be unmanned.’

‘What’s happened to the foreign embassies?’

‘A lot of them were evacuated during the disturbances. The police and army couldn’t, or wouldn’t, protect them.’

‘Sounds unlikely.’

‘It’s true, nonetheless. The remaining residences were closed when the rumours of an epidemic started to spread.’

‘What happened to the medical volunteer expeditions from other countries?’

‘They haven’t come back. And there’s been no word from them.’

‘Are the internal communications working?’

‘Evidently not. Three military aircraft and one from the civil aviation side have crashed in foreign territory. Nobody knows why.’

Jensen sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said:

‘Is this information correct?’

‘Yes. Unfortunately.’

Nobody said a word. Jensen did not move a muscle.

‘One more thing,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘Could they all be dead?’

‘No. We know there’s considerable activity, particularly in the capital.’

‘How do you know that?’

The Minister for Education glanced quickly at the senior minister, who gave a resigned shrug.

‘I can’t answer that question without giving away a military secret.’

Jensen said nothing.

‘But I shall answer it, all the same. It so happens that a friendly superpower has been carrying out systematic, high-altitude surveillance operations over our country for a number of years. Its reconnaissance planes are fitted with comprehensive surveillance equipment. We have been able to share their observations through informal channels.’

‘And?’

‘As I say, there’s no shortage of activity.’

‘Military?’

‘Not in the capital. There is, however, evidence of some military deployment in the countryside.’

‘What’s happening in the capital?’

‘We don’t know. But we know something’s going on there.’

‘Something organised?’

‘Yes.’

Jensen went back to his starting point.

‘Why are we here?’

The politician’s reply was shockingly honest.

‘Because no one wants anything to do with us.’

‘Why don’t you try to get home?’

‘Because we daren’t.’

Jensen stood up and went over to the window. He stared out into the rain. Without turning round, he said:

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘Assign you the task of finding out as much as possible about what’s happened.’

‘You haven’t the authority to assign me tasks here.’